


The Transcript

by the_anon_G



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-10
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 00:57:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_anon_G/pseuds/the_anon_G
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dr. Cartwright shares her files on the most unusual case of patient PM. One shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Transcript

My name is Delly Cartwright. I am thirty-three, married with no children. I work as a clinical psychologist I have lived the past ten years of my life trying to find rational reason behind people’s actions – why some people present with the behavior that is perceive as problematic, why there are urges that we sometimes cannot control, why we feel what we feel – sadness, fear, aggression, obsession, even love. I believe we are shaped by experiences, and everything we do is a reaction to the environment, as much as a reflection of our past experiences. So far, I have proven this in my practice – although the process is tedious, therapy can be grueling, and the results, as a rule, take time. A lot of time.

 

But there is one case I have never been able to explain - one nut that I couldn’t crack, as my colleagues would say -no matter how hard I tried. The patient is a man I’ve known since childhood and who I’ve always considered to be my best friend. They say that my affiliation with him is the very reason why I can’t make a breakthrough –my objectivity, hindered by our history. But I disagree.

 

I guess there are just some things that we really cannot explain.

 

His name is Peeta Mellark, and this is his story.

 

***********************

 

_Transcription (voice rec, patient P.M.; March 29, 2012; interviewer D.C., SONY PCM D50- Rec 000083107)_

 

[recorder on]

[patient clears throat]

 

On the morning of April 15th, 2007, I woke up with an odd thrumming on my head. It was the first thing that I noticed – I wasn’t having a headache, definitely not a seizure. It wasn’t a hangover either, because I was sober that whole week, since I was staying at my old house with my parents.  [pause] It wasn’t painful, just… odd. So I stood up, went for a shower. I was standing in as a cashier in the family bakery – something I haven’t done since I started in the university.I It was a task I didn’t exactly miss, but my mother wouldn’t take to me saying ‘no thank you’ very well. [sighs] Basically I had no choice. But… anyway. [pause]

 

When I got into the bathroom, I realized that the hot water tap was already open, and the tub was nearly full. My older brother, Rye, must have left it like that. He was always kind of a scatter brain. Either that or he just didn’t really care much…[pause] We were pretty close, Rye and I, so I decided to let it go. At least I had a tub of warm water waiting for me.

 

Before going in for the bath, I glanced at myself in the mirror. It was foggy, due to the steam and the temperature in the room, so I used my hand to wipe where I expected my reflection to be.

 

[pause]

 

I was still very sleepy at the time. I don’t know how to explain this without sounding… [long pause] But when I rubbed the surface of the mirror, I didn’t see any reflction. There was nothing there…nothing, at first. The throbbing in my head cleared, from shock, maybe, but then the inside of my chest just felt numb. [clears throat] I closed my eyes and rubbed on them. [pause] I even had this stupid idea that maybe I was going blind, like at the center of my vision, like people with cataracts? Because where I expected my reflection, there was nothing, at first. So I rubbed my eyes and opened them again, and I remember feeling my heart beat so fast, because I was afraid to look, and I kept my eyes on the sink, where my knuckles were white from gripping the edge.  I counted to three… then looked.

 

And there I was - my reflection. I saw my face, pale and bloated from sleep, the skin on my cheek still having the pressure marks from the pillow, my eyes watery from the rub, my forehead shiny with cold sweat. And I remember laughing, because suddenly it all seemed so stupid. [sighs]

 

I didn’t know how long that whole reflection-less mirror thing took, but when I dropped myself into the tub, the water had already gone cold.

 

[pauses for a drink, clears his throat before starting]

 

I went to the bakery right after my bath. It was a little after six in the morning, and the sky was still fairly dark, but I saw from the windows that the light in the oven room was already turned on. I wasn’t surprised – my father has been a baker all his life, and waking up at baker’s hours was normal for him. I was a little confused then when I realized that the door was still locked. I had the keys, but I knocked first, thinking that Dad would open for me. [pause] I waited a few minutes, maybe ten? And when no one opened, I started to worry. What if something happened inside, and my dad was unable to open the door? What if he was unconscious? So I fumbled with the keys, my fingers clumsy in panic, and opened the door with a little push.

 

I almost knocked my father down. [laughs] He was holding a tray, about to put it in the burning oven, and I barged in, missing him by a second. He told me he didn’t hear any knock, and that I was probably doing it too softly… We laughed a bit, and I calmed down, although I never did tell him that I was scared shitless thinking that something horrible had happened.

 

After putting in the last batch of sour dough, he left me at the bakery to do the deliveries. He was the traditional baker – and it was always a point of pride with him. [sighs] He made the deliveries himself, on a bike that had this little bell that he rang at each household that he gave bread to. Do you remember that, [interviewer]? I told myself when I was a kid that if and when I inherit the bakery, I will keep on doing the same thing… 

 

I was left on my own. The oven room was warm. It was April, after all. We were not supposed to open the shop until all the bread was ready, and the sour dough was going to take at least 30 minutes more. The shelves had already been dusted, the few chairs and tables already set up. So I just sat by the counter to wait for the bread and for my dad. I was bored after just about 15 minutes. I didn’t want to fall asleep again, so I made myself coffee even if I don’t drink much of it, if you remember.

 

[pause]

 

I don’t recall the details in the time between my coffee break and this next… sorry… [deep breath] But the next thing I remember was me playing with the bell on the counter. You know that bell that waitresses in diners use when they’re placing an order? We had that in the bakery so the customers can call us when were busy in the back and no one’s manning the counter. I started playing with that bell, hitting the button over and over, until the sound of it was bouncing in my head. Just _ping_! _Ping_! _Ping_!

 

[mimics bell ten times]

[apologizes>]

 

When I realized what I was doing, I looked at my hand that was on top of the bell, and consequently, at the bell itself. It was an old bell, but the surface was still a shiny. [pause] But where my hand was on top of the cold metal, there was again… no reflection. [deep breath] I stared at it close, because I started to worry for my eyesight… I was relieved then to see that there was, in fact, a reflection, although very faint, the lines of the reflection meeting at the point where my skin was touching the bell. But my relief was brief, because I then realized something odd.

 

[pause]

 

It wasn’t my hand in the reflection. I swear. [coughs, clears his throat; starts to tap the arm rest with his fingers] It was a small surface, but I could see. The hand in my reflection was… darker? And thinner, and the angles of my joints were softer, curvier. The next realization I had was that the reflection was that of a girl’s hand.

 

[lets out a long breath; right hand tightens in a fist]

 

I couldn’t have been mistaken. It wasn’t my hand. It wasn’t mine. My hand. It wasn’t…

 

 [breathing starts to pick up; interviewer speaks to calm patient]

 

It wasn’t… [deep breath] I couldn’t lift it off the bell. My hand was stuck there, like somebody placed that quick-drying plastic glue before I touched it. I couldn’t lift my hand… until the reflection moved. [pause] It moved, the lines becoming blurry as it went through the edge of the metal surface, and my hand was the one following and lifting itself off the surface, with merely a split-second in between. It felt like I wasn’t in control of my own hand, [interviewer]. It was the other way around – the reflection was moving, and I, the real person, was the one following.

 

[clears throat]

 

I sound like a lunatic, I know. But I swear I’m telling the truth. [pause]

 

[interviewer encourages patient to continue>]

 

It was when I heard the oven alarm go off that my hand became mine again. The sour dough was done and the oven rang, and suddenly my hand was free… I couldn’t understand what just happened, but I ran into the oven room then. I knew I shouldn’t let the fear take over.  But I was shaking, because for the second time that morning, my reflection was… not normal… I wasn’t normal, and I was also feeling terribly stupid for even seeing those things. Maybe I ate too much the night before. Maybe I was getting sick in the eyes. Maybe being back in my home was a bad idea, and my mind was sending me a message.

 

I decided I had to distract myself, wake myself more. I wasn’t thinking straight, I was still terrified – and the first idea that came to me was to burn myself. [pause, swallows] I didn’t even think twice. I pressed the back of my right hand on the edge of the open oven door, lightly at first, the burning sting taking me by surprise. [deep breath] But just a few seconds after, when my eyes had pooled up tears from the pain, I heard a bell, clear as day and the sound very much like the one on the counter. I pulled my hand back, concerned that Dad would see me in that way – I knew it would worry him. So I hid my injured skin – it was bad, but salvageable – and waited for Dad. But Dad wasn’t there. He hasn’t returned yet.

 

[deep breath, short pause]

 

I was getting angry with myself, because I was terribly scared of something that was impossible – a reflection that took charge while the human could only follow. I remembered then that Dad had installed a full-sized mirror on the narrow wall just outside the oven room, and I steeled myself, deciding to once and for all look at my reflection in a clean, bright mirror. Not a steamy one, not a distorted one from a polished metal surface.

 

[clears throat, foot tapping lightly on the floor]

 

I went to the mirror, standing just a foot away in front of it, holding my burned hand against my chest. There it was again, my reflection. I was surprised to see my eyes so wild, a small tear still clinging to the edge of my left eye. My lips were pale, the skin in between my nose and upper lip moist with sweat. The back of my hand was raw and oozing, little welts already formed and some already burst. I took a deep breath, keeping myself in front of the mirror and my _normal_ reflection for as long as I could stand the pain on my hand.

 

[shakes head, knuckles white on his lap]

 

But just when I thought it was alright, I saw it. I…[deep breath] I saw her.

 

[long pause, mumbling to self, interviewer notes the fingers of his left hand rubbing on the skin at the back of the right hand in small circles]

 

In the mirror… she was… It was her hand at first, the one that I saw. It was holding my burned hand. [pause, shaking head] I don’t know how to say it, [interviewer]. I’m sorry… I just… I’m just saying it as I remember it, okay?

 

[assurance from interviewer, patient encouraged to drink water first]

 

[clears throat] I thought I was holding my own hand, but in the mirror, it was a smaller hand, the skin darker, like tanned, I don’t know… but it was there, and it was the one holding my hand, her thumb caressing the edges of the burn… And I felt it, her skin… my skin… no, it was her skin… soft against my hand, soft but cold, and I was frozen on the spot. [catches breath] I couldn’t move, although I also felt that I didn’t really want to move, because her touch… it was my hand but hers too… [shakes head] It was her touch, and it was… soothing. At first I was just staring at the hand on the reflection, but slowly I could see her arm, and after a while, the arm continuing to her shoulder… It was piece by piece, and I could finally see the silhouette…

 

[shuts his eyes tight, swallowing]

[ interviewer tells patient to take his time]

 

I wasn’t alone. Right there, in the reflection, there was a girl beside me.

 

[pause> <Interviewer asks patient to describe]

 

 She was a head shorter than me. Thin. The bones of her shoulder were visible, her face small… she looked like someone who hasn’t eaten a proper meal for a long time…

 

[swallows loudly, left thumb making circles on the right hand faster]

 

I remember her hair… it was dark brown… or black? It was dark against her skin… in a braid that hung over her shoulder and reached her waist. I can’t remember what she was wearing, no… But what I remember most clearly was her eyes. She looking straight at me, see? Through the mirror. [looks at the interviewer directly] She was looking at me, and I remember her eyes. [deep breath] They were gray, but not just gray – swirling gray, like the clouds in a storm, or waves in the lake, when it’s windy… [deep breath] bright, swirling gray… [shakes head] And she was looking straight at me, still touching my burned skin…

 

She wasn’t smiling. Her face was just blank, and we stared at each other…

 

[long pause]

 

She was standing right next to me, see? [patient gesturing to his left side] Here, she was right here… Half of her body was behind me, and I couldn’t see it, but I knew… I could feel… her arm was around my back, on my waist…

 

[closes his eyes, clearing his throat]

 

She was holding my hand and embracing me. I… I could feel it. It was cold. No… _She_ was cold. But I wasn’t scared, [interviewer]. She didn’t scare me. I was… relieved. I felt like I was alright, after all. She wanted me to be alright.

 

[interviewer asks ~~how he knew that~~ to elaborate]

 

I just knew. I could feel it. She wanted me to be alright.

 

[resumes tracing circles on his hand]

 

I don’t know… I mean, I know I sound like this crazy nut. But I saw her, [interviewer]. I felt her. She was _real_. [pause; deep breath] And even she didn’t say anything – neither of us did – but I felt like I knew her. Like she has always been there, and I just didn’t realize it until then. Or maybe I did, before, a long time ago, and I just forgot.  [swallows, licks his lips, clasps hands together] But that girl… at that moment, she made me feel like everything… everything was going to be alright.

 

[long pause][patient shifts in his seat, eyes kept to the floor]

[interviewer offers water, refused]

[interviewer asks ~~what happened then~~ patient to continue]

 

I… I don’t know… [glances at interviewer and reverts eyes back to the floor, clears throat]

 

Okay… okay… I’m going to tell you, okay? But don’t laugh… [shakes head, shifts in his seat and rapidly rocks right foot on the floor]

 

[reassurance from interviewer]

 

She… she just turned to me and… kind of… [shakes head, sighing] I mean, I could see it in the mirror… she turned to me and kissed me. [sighs] I felt it too… on my lips, here. [points to the left corner of his mouth] It was… cold. But it felt… alright… [looks at the interviewer, blinks twice] Do you believe me?

 

[reassurance from interviewer]

 

She _loves_ me [interviewer]. I don’t know how, or why, but… [sighs, resuming pattern on hand] She loves me, and I knew it just from seeing her then. [shakes head] And… and I know that this is crazy, but I just felt like… [clears throat] I knew right then… [laughs?]

 

[looks at interviewer, clears throat]

 

 I was a goner.

 

[long pause]

[interviewer asks patient to continue]

 

She loves me… and she hates it when I’m hurt… like the burn on my hand. She knew about everything [interviewer]. She knew about… my mother… the injuries…  [takes head into his hands, rocking back and forth on his chair] She knows… and she hates my mother… she hates her, because she hurt me… [leans head on his lap] She wanted me to be alright… That’s all she wanted… [takes a deep breath] She just… [sobs]

 

[recorder paused]

[recorder opened]

 

[interviewer asks patient  if he can continue>]

 

I’m sorry… I didn’t… I was just… [deep breath] She was strong, [interviewer]. She wanted to protect me. [starts to nod head, right foot rocking side to side rapidly] She did… She did… She just wanted me to be safe… 

 

[looks at interviewer][reaches out to hold interviewer’s arm]

 

She protected me. She did. She protected me.

 

[interviewer tells patient ~~his grasp is too tight~~ asks patient to calm down]

 

I’m sorry… I’m sorry… <keeps hands together in his lap> 

 

[Interviewer asks the patient ~~if he sees the girl all the time~~ to continue]

 

She’s always with me. She never leaves me. She loves me. She wants to keep me safe. [takes a deep breath] I know you think I’m a nut case, [interviewer]. That’s why I’m here. That’s why my brothers asked you to take me in for this… consultation. But I’m telling you what I saw. I’m telling you what I felt. It’s the truth, [interviewer], whether you believe me or not…

 

[long pause]

[recorder off?]

 

[interviewer asks if he wants to continue]

 

No, I think I’ve said it all… [deep breath]

 

[interviewer asks patient ~~what happened at the bakery after~~ ~~his first encounter~~  to continue]

 

[clears his throat] I don’t remember. I just… [licks lips, shaking his head] …The next thing I knew, my dad was back, and there was a bell… the bell by the counter was ringing… the bakery was opened, we had already started the day. Everything was… everything was normal. My dad… he didn’t mention anything, and we just went and did our chores, just like any other day.

 

[Interviewer asks about the mirror]

 

It was still there. Right where it had always been.

 

[Interviewer asks about his burn injury]

 

[blinks, shaking his head] I… I don’t know. But… here, look. [extends right hand to interviewer]

 

[interviewer examines hand]

 

[swallows] Scars. [smiles] I’m telling you, [interviewer]. It happened.

 

[long pause]

 

[Interviewer thanks patient]

[ stop recorder]

 

*****

Notes by the interviewer:

 

-  Noted scar, dorsal surface, right hand; 3cm in greatest diameter, pale, thickened, skin, non-tender. Probably burn in origin; approximately 4-5 years by scar grading.

 

\- Patient PM has a positive history of abuse at home since childhood, both physical and emotional, mainly by his mother. No intervention done by other family members or by social services. Social history otherwise unremarkable – PM has been known to excel in academics, has a close group of friends, and has remained cordial with the other members of his family. No romantic relationships. No history of violence. 

-  Patient’s mother already deceased. Died 3 years ago (2009). Found unconscious with soaked clothing in the bathroom. Cause presumed to be of cardiac origin. Examination by coroner unremarkable except for a laceration on the right cheek, 3.5cm; no sharps found in immediate area.

 

*****

 

[recorder on]

[static]

[patient taking a deep breath, clearing his throat]

 

She’s here now.

 

[recorder off]

 

 

Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: Horror.


End file.
